‘No, dear,’ said Maggie.
‘Bummer. ’Cause our van needs fixing.’
Victoria seemed to reach a decision. ‘Here, you can have a look through these if you like. I sketch almost everything I see. I did these of the house.’ She handed over the papers.
‘I’ve got a camera but she won’t use it,’ said Donovan. ‘She doesn’t draw realistically.’
‘I draw what’s inside,’ said Victoria, tilting her head at the page. ‘I studied at Goldsmiths’. When you draw you can see things that don’t appear on camera film. You catch the soul. Don’t you think that’s true, Maggie?’
‘I certainly do.’ Maggie studied the sketches carefully. The images of the hall were beautifully rendered. Sinister skies roiled around the roof like ocean waves, as if something was about to reach down and snatch the building up into the sky. ‘May I borrow some of these for a while?’
‘Feel free. We’re not rushing off anywhere.’
‘Don’t you have family?’ Maggie asked Melanie. ‘Isn’t there someone who worries about you?’
‘Her father threw her down the stairs and kicked her out into the street when he found out she was pregnant,’ said Victoria. ‘That’s the milk of Christian kindness for you. She nearly lost the baby. She needed love and understanding, not violence. We’re her family now.’
Maggie thanked Melanie for the tea and climbed back out into the rain.
42
* * *
CHAIN OF FOOLS
May found Monty wandering about the kitchen, getting in the way of Mrs Janverley. With the huge plaster stuck over his right ear complementing the ones on his head and the bandages around his neck, he was looking increasingly like a St John’s Ambulance practice dummy.
‘Don’t you want to come up and wait with us?’ asked May.
Monty looked at him as if he was mad. ‘What, and risk getting shot again? I’m staying down here, away from the windows. And away from you.’
‘And he’s in my way,’ the housekeeper complained. ‘I’m not used to cooking. Mrs Bessel’s got family. We had to let her go back to Crowshott. It wasn’t fair to keep her here.’
‘But we told you specifically not to let anyone leave,’ said May, exasperated.
Mrs Janverley busied herself with something brown and contumacious in a huge ceramic bowl. ‘I didn’t expect anyone to still be with us. Now I have to find food for them all. It’s going to be potted meat tonight. I’m sorry, I know there are troubles but what’s going on up there on your floors has nothing to do with us down here.’
‘How can you say that?’ asked May. ‘Mr Parchment is dead.’
‘I wish you’d stop calling him that now.’ She punched at the dough. ‘His name was Prabhakar, Ernest Prabhakar, but the old lord couldn’t pronounce it. Insulting it is, to change a man’s name.’
May tried another gambit. ‘I heard that a maid was once murdered in the house.’
‘Whatever happened to her was probably because of her own foolishness,’ said Mrs Janverley uncharitably. ‘They throw themselves at the boys, and never do what they’re told. You think I’m being harsh but I’ve seen these young girls come and go. It was worse when the old lord was still with us.’
‘What do you mean?’
Mrs Janverley harrumphed a little obviously. ‘The usual shenanigans,’ she explained. ‘When men of a certain age get among young girls. Especially when they’re paying their wages. I don’t mind telling you, I’m not going to miss this place. It can’t go too soon for me. I’m off to my sister’s in Margate. Keep your hands out of that.’ She slapped Monty’s hand, which was straying towards her dough. ‘It’s going to be a simple menu tonight. It wouldn’t be respectful serving a traditional dinner after a death in the house.’
‘I’ll be glad to get back to London,’ said Monty. ‘Your forensic wallahs were supposed to be here by now. Where are they?’
‘I don’t know,’ May admitted. ‘The phone still isn’t working.’ He picked up the walkie-talkie Alberman had found for him and used it to call Bryant. ‘Where are you?’
‘Hello. Come in. I can hear you. Over. Sorry, not over, I haven’t finished.’
‘Take your finger off the button. Take—’
‘I’ve gone down to the road to see if it’s still flooded. If it is I’ll push on to Crowshott and call London. I’ll get us airlifted out of here tonight if I have to. Can you hear me? Over.’
‘You can’t get all of us out, Arthur. It’ll mean splitting the group up and losing our killer.’
‘Perhaps not. “They are all guilty.” But they’re not though, are they? Over.’
‘What do you mean? Over.’
‘Not all victims are innocent, and not all murderers are guilty. Over.’
‘I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. Has that strange woman gone?’
‘You forgot to say over. I’ll call you on this thing when I get back. Over.’
‘Wait, are you going to talk to London?’
‘I’m going for a pint. Thinking is thirsty work and I’m spitting feathers. I won’t be long. Over and off.’ He released his button, leaving May staring at the walkie-talkie, dumbfounded.
The saloon bar of the Goat & Compasses was even emptier than usual, except for the one stool occupied by Celeste. Bryant felt his heart lift upon seeing her.
‘Oh, there you are. I thought you’d gone back to London,’ she said carelessly, indicating her empty gin glass to the barman with her own personalized silver swizzle stick.
‘I still have your car,’ he said.
‘I wondered what I’d done with that. Don’t worry, I have others.’ She tapped out a cigarette. ‘My husband collected them. He liked them almost as much as his wives. You’ve got soot in your ears.’
‘Yes, I got stuck up a chimney.’
‘We usually have someone in for that. How’s it going up at Murder Manor?’
‘It looks like we have to stay a little while longer.’ He ordered himself a pint of bitter.
‘So you’re no closer to nailing your culprit?’
‘Well, I think I know what’s been going on.’
‘So what are you doing in the pub?’
‘I need tangible proof before I can make an arrest.’
‘And how do you go about getting that?’
‘I have some ideas.’ He turned to her. ‘One of the guests is a crime novelist, Pamela Claxon.’
‘I know her. Rather spiky, wears too many Jaeger jumpers. She lives just up the road.’
‘She keeps reminding me that her fictional detective would be able to solve the case. She’s right; it feels like one of her murder mysteries.’
‘Perhaps that’s what you want it to be,’ said Celeste, sipping her fresh gin.
‘You’re probably right,’ sighed Bryant, gulping his beer. ‘I read too much. Even before anything had happened I was looking for suspects.’
‘You of all people should know that nothing is ever as tidy as it is in a novel. Real life is messy and incomprehensible. You wouldn’t think such peculiar things could happen.’ She turned to study him. ‘I was reading about Charles Manson this morning. Did you know he used to babysit Grandpa Munster’s children? True story. You can’t make up that kind of illogic.’ She looked over to a table where two old men were playing dominoes. ‘I suppose you have to discover where the chain of events began.’ She smoothed out his lapel.
‘You mean find the first domino and the rest will fall into place. Celeste, you’re a marvel.’
‘I know.’ She winked at him.
Five minutes later Bryant left the pub and rang Gladys again. The sergeant assured him that the forensic experts were finally on their way. They had agreed to take over the investigation, leaving him and May to concentrate on shepherding Monty back to London. The sergeant had some other news, even less palatable.
A sense of catastrophe flooded over him.
It was doubly galling to realize that where the PCU had faile
d, Canterbury Constabulary would probably succeed. The hall’s claustrophobic atmosphere prevented him from thinking clearly. He knew this was his last throw of the dice, and he had to make it count. Hanging up, he was about to set off, but decided to make one last call.
In order to get back to the hall Bryant needed to bypass the flooded lane, which meant that he was forced to stumble through swampy fields that sucked at his shoes. His Student Prince trousers had gone the way of his Hay Fever turn-ups. He would have to resort to something fantastical left over from Salad Days.
He passed beneath a funereal line of crows hunched on sagging telephone wires. I hate you, he thought, watching me with your impassive, beady little eyes. Having arrived at the hall with an almost open mind, he had now come to loathe everything about the countryside. By the time he reached the house the clouds had darkened, and there were only candles to be seen in the windows.
He found everyone huddled miserably in Iris surrounded by out-of-date newspapers, unread books and dirty teacups. The enervated guests and their hosts barely bothered to look up when he entered. They reminded him of characters from a Buñuel film, unable to pass across thresholds and sunken into lassitude.
‘Look here,’ said Monty, who had been forced to vacate the kitchen before Mrs Janverley threw something serrated at him, ‘is anyone turning up to look at these corpses or are we just going to leave them lying around? It’s indecorous and unhygienic. And you still haven’t found the rest of the groundsman. The housekeeper’s frightened to open a cupboard in case he falls out. We can’t stay here indefinitely.’
‘It was raining too hard to conduct a proper search,’ said Bryant. ‘You’ll be pleased to know that the forensics unit is finally on its way to us.’ A feeble, sarcastic cheer went up, a further slap in the face. ‘Until they get here, I suggest we all stay in the same room. I can have some blankets brought down.’
‘I’m going to my suite,’ said Lady Banks-Marion. ‘I am not “dossing” here like one of those hippies in the garden.’
‘They’re good people, Mother,’ said Harry, stroking Malacrida. ‘They’ve just lost their way.’
‘They’ve lost their minds,’ she sniffed. ‘And as for that pig, it should be put where it belongs, either tethered in a pen or rashered on a breakfast table. As for you two’ – she stabbed a digit at the detectives – ‘you weren’t even invited here. You’ve done nothing but cause trouble from the moment you arrived. You brought all this filth with you, tracking it in like mud. From the city into our house.’
No one was listening. Lady Banks-Marion had lost her power to command. Now she was just an old lady querulously complaining to anyone who might show a flicker of interest.
Bryant tapped his partner on the shoulder. ‘Before I forget, there’s something else I have to tell you. We’ve been fired.’
May reeled. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Roger Trapp went crackers when he found out what was going on here. It’s not Gladys’s fault. She had to tell him the truth. He called someone from Head Office. They’re kicking us out whether or not we still manage to get Monty to the Law Courts in time to testify. There’ll have to be a public inquiry, so it looks like our careers are over. As of tomorrow, you and I are free to seek new employment.’
‘Thank you for that,’ said May. ‘You’ve just completed my day. This has been the worst weekend of my life.’
‘You’re right,’ said Bryant. ‘It’s my fault. I waited too long to do what comes most naturally to me. I’ve been a fool. I should have acted earlier on my suspicions. I’ll have to make up for it now. I need to put this right.’ He rose and wandered vaguely from the room with his hands in his pockets.
‘Does he always take things so personally?’ asked Claxon.
‘I don’t fully understand how he reaches his conclusions but they take time,’ said May. ‘Unfortunately that’s the one thing we don’t have.’
43
* * *
CARDS ON THE TABLE
May found Bryant pacing before the shelves in the library. In times of great stress he always defaulted to books. On an oval mahogany table he had laid out the invitation cards that had been arranged in the hall upon everyone’s arrival.
‘It’s not your fault,’ said May. ‘You did what you could. We should get Monty packed and ready to leave.’
Bryant ignored the comment. ‘Look at this. This is how they were.’ He picked up each of the cards in turn, studying them. ‘The invitations. The guests left them on the hall table, remember? Monty said it’s a country house tradition. In fact, these are the replies mailed back to the hall, each signed by its recipient. Apparently they stay here so that no one has cause to forget anyone’s name over the weekend.’
‘What of it?’
He pointed to each of the cards. ‘They were laid down in the order of arrival, so Donald Burke and his wife were the first. But they weren’t greeted by Lady Banks-Marion, or by Harry. None of us were.’
‘So?’
‘So it must have been Alberman who let them in, except that he says he didn’t. Then who did?’
‘I don’t know. Parchment? Are you saying it had something to do with his death?’
‘No, but it was where the weekend started. Celeste put an idea into my head, that if you find the first domino you’ll see how they all fell.’
‘Who is Celeste?’
‘The lady I met at the pub.’
‘So you’ve been out drinking and picking up women while we’ve been trapped in here.’
‘Look at them.’ Bryant studied the invitations. ‘The first domino. What happened right at the start?’
May gave a shrug. ‘Lady Banks-Marion decided to hold a weekend party.’
‘No, before that. Go back to before these invitations were laid down. The old lord died, leaving behind no money for the upkeep of Tavistock Hall. Lady Banks-Marion didn’t know what to do. Her son had no interest in saving the house – he was off on a voyage of self-discovery. She became tired of being unable to pay the staff and having to put buckets everywhere to catch the rain. She let the servants go one by one. She hired Fruity as the new groundsman because he’d been badly injured and was therefore cheap, but it wasn’t enough to keep everything going. It was clear that they were fighting a losing battle. So when Harry suggested they looked for a buyer, she was reluctantly forced to agree. With me so far?’
‘Yes, that much is obvious,’ said May.
Bryant removed the invitation reply signed by Toby Stafford. ‘Harry met the lawyer. Stafford had a wealthy client who was looking to open a business academy outside London. Stafford hadn’t even met this chap – to be fair, he didn’t need to as his transactions are routinely handled over the phone and he and Burke were based in different parts of the country – but he had a feeling that Burke would be interested in the house. However, there was a problem. Burke didn’t like holding his financial meetings in person, so Stafford came up with a solution. “Come down to Tavistock Hall and look it over,” he suggested. “They’ll hold a weekend party to provide you with some cover. You can come and go as you please. You don’t have to meet anyone else. Just assess the investment and leave whenever you like. I’ll take care of the rest.” Harry attempted to make the house presentable, and emptied the family bank account in order to put on a spread. There was no time to get rid of the ashram and besides, he had no inclination to give his girlfriend and her pals their marching orders.’
Bryant removed the second invitation inscribed with Donald Burke’s signature.
‘Mr Burke was to be accompanied by his wife, Norma. She was used to acting as his intermediary. By her own admission she wasn’t much use on a business trip but she could smooth things over, something she’d become used to doing since her husband’s breakdown. Coincidentally Norma had a friend living in a nearby village, whom she asked if she could invite – Pamela Claxon.’
He picked up another card.
‘Arthur, where are you going with this?’
‘Bear with me. Burke had put in another request, probably through Toby Stafford, for Vanessa Harrow to attend. It all seemed terribly civilized between Norma and Vanessa. Harry didn’t know who she was but anyone Burke wanted to bring was fine.’ He removed Harrow’s reply from the table.
‘Who does that leave? Well, appearances must be kept up and a vicar was always invited, so along he came, Trev the Rev, just to keep everything normal. And Slade Wilson wangled an invite from Norma because somebody had to work out what on earth to do with the place once it was purchased.’
He took Trevor Patethric’s invite from the table along with the one signed by Slade Wilson.
One card remained. ‘So – who does that leave us with?’
‘Monty.’
‘How did he get his invite?’
May shrugged. ‘Through Toby Stafford, of course.’
‘Indeed. The lawyer was always at the centre of the circle. Monty pulled the old pals’ act on him. But why was he so desperate to come?’
‘Because he thought he might be able to get some money from Donald Burke.’
‘For the purpose of …?’ Bryant teased.
‘Buying Charles Chamberlain’s company and wooing back Miss Harrow.’
‘And what happened?’ Bryant sailed the card before him. ‘To Monty’s horror Burke was found dead, leaving him with nothing. So in desperation he stole the painting.’
‘Never underestimate the power of a pretty girl,’ said May, who knew about such things. ‘The poor goon is utterly lovestruck. In fact, quite a few of them are.’
‘What do you mean?’ It was Bryant’s turn to look puzzled.
May was exasperated. ‘Don’t you notice anything? Monty’s still in love with Vanessa Harrow, hippy Melanie is crazy for Harry, and Slade Wilson had his eye on the vicar.’
‘Good Lord, how did I miss all that?’
‘Because, my dear fellow, to understand the heart you have to look at people instead of listening to them. So where does this domino theory of yours take us?’
Bryant & May – Hall of Mirrors: (Bryant & May Book 15) Page 32
